26 Ansh Is Niyatis Partner #2
The Ansh whose dark eyes had carried that quiet, painfully restrained disappointment when he believed she would be walking into the ball on another man's arm.
And now... he was going to be her partner.
The realization washed over her in slow, lingering waves. She remembered the shopping trip-the shimmering dresses, Diya's boundless energy, her own quiet reluctance, and finally Ansh standing before her, holding the midnight-blue silk in his hands, murmuring softly, 'I think this would suit you.'
She had allowed herself, for one fleeting, dangerous second back then, to wonder what it would feel like to wear that gown for him.
To have him be the one waiting at the end of the stairs.
To feel his palm resting gently against her waist as they stepped onto the dance floor.
She had violently shoved those thoughts away back then, convincing herself that such a reality was an impossible dream.
Yet here it was, orchestrating itself right before her eyes.
Niyati looked down at her phone once more. The group chat was alive with Diya and Shaurya coordinating arrival times and entry passes, but the noise felt distant, like listening to music underwater. Her mind was miles away, anchored entirely to him.
Before she could stop it, a tiny, helpless smile touched the corners of her lips.
Ansh was coming. He was going to be there, standing beside her. And suddenly, the midnight-blue dress hanging neatly inside her wardrobe didn't feel like a bittersweet compromise anymore. It felt like a promise.
For the first time since their quiet separation, Niyati allowed herself to truly imagine it-Ansh seeing her dressed for the evening, Ansh holding out his hand to her, Ansh guiding her through the crowded hall. The sheer anticipation made her chest ache with a sweet, breathless flutter.
Catching her own reflection in the mirror, she quickly pressed her palms to her warm cheeks, shaking her head. "Stop it, Niyati," she whispered under her breath. "Don't do this to yourself."
Diya caught the whisper, glancing over with an arch smile. "Did you say something?"
"Nothing," Niyati replied instantly, though the fond, knowing look in Diya's eyes suggested she wasn't fooled in the slightest.
Niyati turned her gaze toward the window. Outside, the Delhi morning had fully awakened into a bright, golden afternoon. Excited voices of students preparing for the evening floated up from the courtyard below.
Tonight was supposed to be just a standard college event-a routine Freshers' Ball.
Yet for Niyati, as she looked at the sunlight filtering through her room, it felt infinitely more significant. Because the boy she had spent months trying not to miss was going to be the one taking her hand tonight.
And the most beautiful, dangerous part of it all was that a quiet, resilient whisper in her heart was already echoing: Maybe this is how it was always meant to be.
I had never understood why people made such an elaborate fuss about getting dressed for a party. A shirt, a pair of tailored trousers, a jacket, and decent shoes-that was the universal formula.
At least, that was what I had always believed right up until tonight.
Yet here I was, standing motionless in front of my open wardrobe for the better part of fifteen minutes, staring at the clothes hanging inside as though they had personally offended me.
I pulled out a crisp black suit, inspected the lapels under the light, and shoved it straight back in. A charcoal-grey set followed, but I rejected it immediately-too corporate, too severe. Another black blazer met the same fate; it felt far too ordinary.
I let out a long, heavy sigh, rubbing a hand across my face in sheer frustration. "This is completely ridiculous," I muttered to the empty room.
It was just a college Freshers' Ball.
I had attended dozens of high-profile formal events, college parties, some business galas recently, and family dinners in my life. I knew how to dress myself.
So why was I suddenly behaving like a nervous teenager who had never worn a tie before?
The answer was painfully obvious, and her name echoed quietly in my head.
Niyati.
I still remembered the exact moment I had spotted the midnight blue gown on the mannequin.
There had been dozens of dresses lined up along the racks that afternoon, varying in cut, length, and style.
Diya had been running around like she owned the place, while Niyati had stood quietly beside me, looking almost completely detached from the entire exercise.
She had insisted she didn't even want to go.
And yet, the very second my eyes landed on that particular gown, I had known. It was hers. I couldn't explain the instinct, but it was absolute. Maybe it was the deep, starry shade of the fabric, or maybe it was the way it caught the warm store lighting.
Or perhaps, subconsciously, I had already pictured her wearing it before I even had the chance to stop myself.
I walked back toward the wardrobe, my fingers brushing past the hangers until they settled on a suit I had initially set aside-a deep, midnight-blue tuxedo. Pulling it into the light, I inspected the fabric.
Under the soft yellow bedroom lamps, the color looked almost black, but whenever the light struck the wool, the rich, navy undertone came alive. It was the exact shade I wanted. It was the exact shade of her dress.
A quiet, helpless smile tugged at the corner of my lips. "Perfect."
I laid the suit carefully across the bed and began gathering the rest of the ensemble: a crisp white dress shirt, a midnight-blue silk tie, a matching folded pocket square, polished black formal shoes, and my silver watch.
It was simple, elegant, and entirely balanced. But as I stood there looking at the clothes spread out on the mattress, a sudden, heavy truth settled over me.
I wasn't dressing up for a college function. I was dressing up for her.
The realization instantly wiped the smile from my face. I stared at the dark silk of the tie, my chest tightening. This is dangerous territory, I warned myself.
I had explicitly promised myself that I wouldn't expect anything from tonight.
Niyati had allowed me back into her orbit slowly, cautiously, and with immense effort.
She had forgiven some of the distance between us, but certainly not everything.
We weren't together. We hadn't even dared to discuss what we meant to each other anymore.
And I wasn't going to ruin the fragile, precious peace we had managed to rebuild by turning tonight into something it wasn't.